


should've been a one night stand (but here we go again)

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Big Time Adolescence (2020)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blowjobs, Denial of Feelings, Drinking, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, M/M, Rutting, Shotgunning, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love, handjobs, semi non-linear narrative, smoking pot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 07:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23467774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: They really shouldn't keep doing this, but they just can't seem to stop.
Relationships: Monroe "Mo" Harris/Zeke Presanti
Comments: 11
Kudos: 49





	should've been a one night stand (but here we go again)

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from "the break up" by mgk bc of course it was
> 
> this is sexy and sad, aka my specialty (maybe?? idk lmao)
> 
> I didn't edit this as much as I could've bc i was tired of looking at it. also if it's unclear, the parts indented are the flashbacks
> 
> thanks to Hannah for beta'ing!! enjoy!

** from: zeke ** _  
you up?_

Mo rolls his eyes. He sets his phone aside, pulls his laptop closer, and focuses on his assigned reading. 

Or, well, he _tries_ to. His phone, despite being still and silent beside him, feels like it’s vying for his attention. His fingers shake with the urge to check it. He wants to see if Zeke has double- or triple-texted him. He wants to see if Zeke is as desperate as Mo feels. He wants to reply and tell Zeke he’ll be over in ten minutes or less. He wants and he wants and he _wants_. 

But he shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. So he ignores his phone and reads three pages of his assigned reading before realizing he’s not taking in any information. With a groan, he slams his laptop shut and grabs his phone.

** to: zeke  
** _yes_

** from: zeke  
** _wanna come over?_

That’s all he asks. That’s all he ever asks. He doesn’t try to sweeten the deal: no promises of booze or pot or hot chicks. Zeke knows he doesn’t need to say anything else, because Mo will always come running. It’s the same way any time Mo texts first; he doesn’t need to entice Zeke, because Zeke’s already addicted to this.

_ This _ being them hooking up. 

Even though it was only supposed to be one time. 

* * *

> “How do I know?” Mo asks, staring morosely down the neck of his beer bottle. 
> 
> “I don’t fuckin’ know, dude. I think you just _do_.” Zeke takes a swig of his own bottle—vodka—and chases it with a long puff off a joint. “Like, you just _know_ you like chicks, right?”
> 
> “Right.” Mo nods. 
> 
> “Then you should probably just _know_ if you like dudes.”
> 
> Mo bites the inside of his cheek. “I’ve never kissed a guy before.”
> 
> “Well, shit, Momo, you never kissed a girl before whatsherface either, but you still knew you were into her, right?” 
> 
> Mo nods again. “It just...it seems so different.” Mo passes the bottle between his hands and starts to pick at the label until he can peel it off. He downs what’s left in the amber bottle and Zeke passes him another from the cooler by their feet. “But I can’t stop thinking about it.”
> 
> “I know you can’t, you haven’t shut the fuck up about it.” Zeke shakes his head and takes another long drag. He holds it in for a few moments before letting out the smoky breath in a long hiss. “C’mere,” he says eventually, voice thick from smoke clawing its way out of his body.
> 
> Mo swallows his sip of beer too fast and coughs. Clearing his throat, he asks, “What?”
> 
> Zeke drains his beer and stubs out the roach on the over-filled ashtray and adjusts himself on the couch. He faces Mo with one leg drawn up on the couch cushion, spreading his legs in an obscene way. He gestures Mo closer with a single finger. “Come here,” he says, sterner. 
> 
> Mo sets his beer aside and obeys. 
> 
> Zeke observes him for a second, eyes roaming over Mo’s face and down to his lips. “I’m not gay,” Zeke says. “Just wanna shut you up, alright?”
> 
> “Alright,” Mo breathes. 
> 
> Zeke cups his jaw and draws him into a kiss that tastes like shitty beer and strong pot. It’s disgusting, but Mo whimpers anyway and moves closer. He fists a hand in Zeke’s shirt and the other clenches in the couch cushion. Zeke’s hand grips Mo’s jaw tight to keep him still and his other hand wanders down to Mo’s hip. They kiss sloppily, deeply until they’re both panting for air. 
> 
> Zeke doesn’t push Mo away like he expects. Zeke brushes their noses together for a moment before stealing another kiss, before nipping at his lips and grinning.
> 
> “I’m not gay,” Zeke says again as he lays his hand over Mo’s hard-on in his jeans. 
> 
> “Yeah,” Mo gasps, “okay.” 
> 
> He lets Zeke tip him backwards on that ratty, lumpy couch. He lets Zeke stick his hand down his pants and jerk Mo off like the world will end if he doesn’t come in the next five minutes. He lets Zeke suck on his tongue and flick at his nipples over his thin cotton tee. 
> 
> The craziest part is that Zeke lets Mo touch him _too_. Mo pulls at Zeke’s hair and scratches his nails down his back and shoves his hand down Zeke’s jeans and grabs at his ass. Zeke lets him do all of it, moaning and gasping and pleading Mo’s name all the while. 
> 
> It’s fast and messy and when it’s over, when they’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch, they can’t look each other in the eye. 
> 
> “That can’t happen again,” Zeke says as he rubs at an especially vibrant hickey Mo sucked into his collarbone. It covers one of his smaller tattoos, and Mo might be a little obsessed with it. But Zeke is right; this can’t happen again. 
> 
> Not only is Zeke _not_ gay, but their relationship is still fragile at the best of times. Zeke got Mo expelled from school, and because of that Mo had to go to community college and live at home. Zeke still buys Mo alcohol even though he’s only eighteen, and Zeke still regularly gets too fucked up to function. Zeke’s currently without a job, and he’ll probably get one in the next two weeks only to ditch it after a month. 
> 
> Zeke is bad for him. Mo’s dad already hates that Mo still hangs out with him. Call it stupidity, call it a crush, call it a fucking suicide mission. Mo can’t pin down exactly why he keeps coming around, but he knows they can’t do this again if he doesn’t want his life to implode again. 
> 
> “Totally,” Mo agrees. “I mean, it helped. I get it now.” 
> 
> Zeke grins faintly. “Yeah? Good. Mission accomplished, then.”
> 
> Mo nods. “Yep,” he says, “mission accomplished.” 

* * *

Mo’s throwing on his sweatshirt when he realizes his dad is waiting at the dining room table. For a second, it seems like Mo might be able to slip out without catching his dad’s attention. He’s got a stout glass that’s probably full of scotch sitting beside him, which means Reuben has been drinking for at least a little while. Sure, he drinks scotch, but Mo knows his dad is really a lightweight. Maybe his dad is too buzzed to notice the jingle of Mo’s keys, the soft screech of his sneakers on the hardwood floor. 

“Monroe,” his dad says just as Mo reaches for the doorknob. “Where are you off to?” 

Mo considers his options. Tell the truth, have a fight, go get fucked while he’s spitting mad. Or, lie, have a fight later _after_ he’s been thoroughly railed. “Gonna go see Zeke.” Fuck it, it’s not even that late. It’s barely ten o’clock. He’s an adult, he can go where he damn pleases.

Reuben hums. He takes a sip of his scotch. “Drive safe,” he says in that dejected way he gets whenever Mo mentions Zeke. 

“Totally, dad, of course.” After a second’s consideration, Mo wraps a quick arm around his dad for a half-hearted hug. 

Reuben clutches at his arm briefly, then says, “Use protection.” 

Mo stares at his dad. A quick panic starts in his chest, that his dad knows what he and Zeke are up to. His dad knows he isn’t straight, but knowing he’s fucking around with Zeke is an entirely different ballgame. 

“Close your mouth,” Reuben adds without looking at Mo. 

“Okay,” Mo says faintly. He walks out of the house in a daze and doesn’t come back to himself until he’s pulling into Zeke’s driveway. He shakes off the lingering weirdness of his dad knowing _exactly_ what he’s up to and hauls ass from his car to the porch. 

The porchlight isn’t on but the door swings open before Mo can even knock. 

Zeke stares at him and Mo stares back. 

* * *

> It happens again a week later. Mo is back at Zeke’s, sober and hating it, when Zeke asks, “So, you touch anyone else’s dick yet?”
> 
> Mo pauses in sipping his water. “Uh, no?” 
> 
> Zeke nods. “Cool. You gonna?” 
> 
> “That’s...kind of the plan. Eventually.” Mo shrugs. He does half his schooling online and half in person, and the classes he has in person aren’t exactly chock full of people Mo’s dying to get with. It has nothing to do with the fact he can’t stop thinking about Zeke’s hands on his body, or his hands on Zeke’s. 
> 
> “Cool,” Zeke says again, “very cool.” Nonchalant, so aloof and chill. It’s bullshit, and Mo knows it suddenly and viscerally. 
> 
> Mo’s blood is already burning. This time, he’s the one who says it. “C’mere.” 
> 
> Zeke drops his cigarette in his beer bottle and tosses the bottle aside. “Fuck yeah,” he mutters as he reaches across the couch and pulls Mo into his lap. The display of strength has Mo hard in a matter of seconds and he digs his nails into Zeke’s shoulders for support. 
> 
> Mo bends down to kiss him and it’s even more frenzied the last time. It’s all teeth and wet gasps. Zeke bites hard enough on Mo’s bottom lip to make him bleed and Mo retaliates by placing a hand in Zeke’s hair and pulling _hard_. Zeke lets out a quiet yelp of pain but Mo feels his dick twitch in his sweats so he doesn’t stop. 
> 
> “Mo,” Zeke groans. “Mo, fuck, can I touch you?”
> 
> “Yeah,” Mo pants with a nod. 
> 
> Zeke’s hand doesn’t slide down the front of his jeans like Mo expects. It slips down the back, between his cheeks, one finger resting over his hole. Zeke doesn’t press inside, even he’s not stupid enough to try that. But he does press down, gentle pressure somewhere Mo’s never been touched before.
> 
> “Oh fucking _shit_ ,” Mo cries out as he comes. His boxers are going to be sticky but he doesn’t care, because suddenly all he wants is Zeke’s dick in his ass. 
> 
> “Fuck,” Zeke groans, hips bucking up against Mo. His head tilts back, his eyes flutter shut, and Mo watches as Zeke comes without a hand on him. 

* * *

Mo gasps as Zeke shoves him up against the bedroom door. Zeke still has a couple inches on Mo in height and he uses it, filling up every inch of Mo’s vision, taking him over like a typhoon obliterating a city. Mo clutches uselessly at Zeke’s hips, shoving at his shirt or at his belt in a desperate attempt to touch him. 

“Wanna fuck you,” Zeke says against Mo’s lips. “Got lube and shit, if you want.” 

Mo _does_ want. He shouldn’t, just like they shouldn’t keep doing this. But god, it’s all he’s thought about for so long. He thinks back to an offhand remark Holly made one time, something about “what he’s packing” and her hands spread unreasonably far apart. He hasn’t had a chance to suck Zeke off yet, and saliva pools in his mouth at the thought—his whole body tingles at the idea of Zeke inside him.

Mo whines. “Yeah, c’mon. Fuck me.” 

Zeke grabs at the doorknob and they go stumbling into his bedroom. Mo trips on a stray pair of boxers and tumbles backwards onto the bed. Zeke yanks off his own shirt before following Mo onto the bed. He digs around in the bedside table and pulls out a bottle of cheap scented lube and a handful of condoms.

Mo raises an eyebrow at the half dozen condoms sitting on the bed. “I know I’m young, but I’m not _that_ young.” 

Zeke snorts. “Nah, man, I know, I just.” Zeke stares at him, eyes wide. “I dunno. Better safe than sorry.”

Mo pushes the echo of his dad’s voice, _use protection_ , from his mind. “What if I want you raw?” 

Zeke’s hips jump. “Oh, fuck, Mo.”

Mo grins. “That’s settled then.” He pushes the condoms over the edge of the bed before shoving at his jeans. Zeke yanks at his shirt while Mo goes for his belt. Once the thins strip of leather has been tossed aside, Zeke pulls his jeans down far enough to expose his lack of underwear. Then, they both stop, already breathing heavy. 

“Like this?” Mo asks, leaning back, “or should I get on my stomach?” 

Zeke hisses as if the very thought burns him. “Stomach,” he replies, “this time.”

The promise of more shouldn’t thrill Mo as much, but maybe he’s deluding himself by thinking they’ll ever be able to stop. He rolls over onto his stomach and his dick twitches at Zeke’s sharp inhale of breath. Zeke’s hands roam along Mo’s back down to the curve of his hips then over the swell of his ass.

“You’d look hot with some back tats,” Zeke says absently as he reaches for the lube. There’s the _click_ of the cap opening and the soft _squelch_ of him slicking up his fingers. 

“You think so?”

Zeke’s clean hand plants itself in the center of Mo’s back while his slick fingers nudge up against Mo’s hole. “Definitely,” Zeke says softly, “it’d be hot. Chicks dig that.”

Mo rolls his eyes. “Totally,” he agrees. 

He expects Zeke to wax poetic about the benefits of tattoos and pulling chicks but he doesn’t—instead he sinks one finger into Mo with a single-minded determination. He goes slow and gentle but he’s relentless, too. One second Mo is empty and aching for it, and the next second he’s full. It’s not an entirely foreign feeling, Mo is no stranger to playing with his own ass, but Zeke’s fingers are different than his. They’re longer, bonier, reaching deeper inside Mo than he can ever reach on his own.

“Oh, god,” Mo gasps as his arms give out and he face plants onto the pillow. It smells like Zeke’s shampoo and weed and Mo kind of wants to drown in it. “Another.”

“I just started,” Zeke says, half-snappy and half-dazed. 

“Another, please, I can take it.” Mo sways on his knees, hips going back and forth in a way he hopes tantalizes the other man.

It must, because a second finger joins the first and a full-body shudder wracks through Mo. His arms gave out at the feeling of the first finger, but the second finger makes him feel perilously close to being high.

* * *

> Back when he was dealing at parties, that girl had asked him if he’d ever had sex high. At least now, Mo can say yes, he has. He still doesn’t smoke _often_ , but after a while it seemed silly to hang out with Zeke and still claim to be above smoking pot now and then. 
> 
> And he understands the hype. He doesn’t know if it’s just the particular batch of weed or if it’s the thrill of knowing Zeke blew off plans with a girl to hang out with Mo instead. Either way, they end up in Zeke’s bed with their hands down each other pants, high as fucking kites.
> 
> “Hang on, hang on,” Zeke says. “Wanna shotgun?” 
> 
> Mo blinks. “Sure, yeah, okay.” He’s never done it before but he gets the gist. 
> 
> It means extracting their hands from one another’s pants but Zeke doesn’t have to go far. He’s got a joint in the pocket of his jeans and a lighter on the bedside table. He lights it up, takes a couple puffs, then gestures for Mo to get closer. 
> 
> Mo straddles his thigh and watches as Zeke takes a long, deep drag. As soon as the joint is away from his lips, Mo bends to kiss Zeke. Their mouths open in tandem and Zeke exhales the smoke, and Mo inhales. It’s not as easy as Mo expects, and some smoke escapes from the corners of their mouths as they break into twin grins. 
> 
> But Mo can feel the smoke burning in his lungs and he lets it linger for a long moment before exhaling up above them, watching the smoke drift above their heads. Zeke puts a hand on his chin to drag Mo’s attention back down to him. 
> 
> “So…?” Zeke asks.
> 
> “Great,” Mo says, leaning in to kiss Zeke again, “perfect.” 
> 
> “Awesome,” Zeke replies with a grin. He leans back to take another hit and feeds it to Mo again with a gentle kiss. They trade kisses back and forth until the joint is burning at Zeke’s fingertips. He tosses it aside and whispers in Mo’s ear, “I wanna suck you off.” 
> 
> It’s a good thing Mo is high, because otherwise he’d probably come in his pants _again_. “Yeah, please, do that.”
> 
> Zeke flips them over—Mo’s head _thwacks_ against the headboard but he barely feels it—and scrambles to get Mo’s jeans off. He wastes no time in getting his mouth on Mo’s cock, taking him down as far as he can until he gags. Mo’s hips buck and he fucks into Zeke’s throat, listens to him choke again and again. Zeke never pulls back, even though he could.
> 
> When Mo stutters out, “I’m coming,” Zeke still doesn’t pull off. He drops lower until his nose is buried in Mo’s pubes and swallows around the tip of his cock. Mo spills down his throat with a soundless moan, hands fisted in Zeke’s sheets. 
> 
> Zeke pulls off with a teasing kiss to the wet tip of Mo’s dick. Mo’s about to offer to return the favor when Zeke whips out his dick and starts to stroke, fast and inelegant. He plants one hand on the bed beside Mo and angles his dick at Mo’s stomach, where his faint treasure trail leads down to his softening dick.
> 
> Zeke’s come splatters across Mo’s stomach with nothing but the sound of Mo’s heavy breathing and Zeke’s quiet little grunt to score it.

* * *

The moan bursts from his throat without his permission as soon as Zeke’s cock starts to split him open. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt: thick, hot, impossibly firm. It’s like he’s being split apart but he never wants it to end; it’s some kind of fantastic torture, with Mo straddling the line of pleasure and pain as Zeke’s cock never seems to stop. 

“Halfway,” Zeke groans lowly, and Mo whimpers. “You’re taking it so good, Mo, fuck. Your ass is so tight.”

Mo whines again and works his hips back gently, letting Zeke fill him up that much quicker. “You’re huge,” he gasps out, because words are hard and Zeke’s dick is harder. “Fuck, why is your dick so big?”

Zeke laughs. He flexes the hand that’s gripping Mo’s hip hard enough to bruise, and hooks his other hand over Mo’s shoulder. “Just lucky, I guess,” Zeke says before pulling Mo to meet his thrusts. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Mo gasps as Zeke’s balls slap against his own. Zeke is so deep, Mo swears he could feel it in his throat. He always thought that sort of thing was stupid and exaggerated but now he _gets it_. “Zeke, Zeke, Zeke,” Mo chants, feeling like a broken record. It’s like there’s no room in his head for anything other than _Zeke_. 

Zeke falls forward with a grunt. His hips keep working fast and hard; the headboard slams against the wall in time with their fucking. Mo rises up on his hands and presses one against the headboard for leverage to work his hips back against Zeke. Zeke’s hand on his shoulder glides to grope at his chest and his nails bite into the delicate skin around Mo’s nipple. 

Mo already knows he’s never going to be able to give this up. It feels as though Zeke’s cock was made for him; Mo’s sure no one else will ever compare. He’s sweaty and his and Zeke’s bodies glide together. The zipper of Zeke’s jeans bites into the back of Mo’s thighs and the edge of pain is the only thing keeping him from blowing his load too quickly. 

Zeke’s panting in his ear, wet gasps and half-moans. “Mo, can I, can I come inside you?”

“Yes.” Mo moves his hand from the headboard to Zeke’s hair. He tugs as Zeke’s hips jerk, fucking that much deeper inside him. “Do it, c’mon, fill me up.”

Zeke grunts and it should be unattractive but it’s _not_. Zeke grunts and his hips stutter and his cock pulses inside Mo. The sensation of come filling up the spaces Zeke’s cock doesn’t is strange and foreign but Mo kind of wants to feel it for the rest of his life. 

Zeke kisses the nape of his neck, just above the top knob of his spine, before curling a hand around Mo’s dick. His hand is warm and slick with sweat and he barely has his fingers around Mo before he’s coming, spurting white over the bedsheets. Zeke hisses as Mo clenches around him and his hips jump again, a final burst of pleasure as Mo falls limply forward. 

Zeke stays slumped over his back for a second before sitting up. He doesn’t pull out right away, though; instead, he traces a finger around the rim of Mo’s asshole. Mo shivers. 

“Zeke,” Mo sighs, breathy and dreamy, shifting back and forth on his knees. 

“Mo,” Zeke breathes back. Slowly, his hips start again and Mo can’t even protest. “Just one more time,” Zeke says as he presses his forehead against Mo’s back. “Just one more.” 

“Yeah,” Mo agrees, nodding even with his face half-shoved in the pillow that reeks like Zeke. He cradles the pillow to his chest and ignores the oversensitivity rippling along his spine. 

“Last time,” Zeke grunts.

“Last time,” Mo echoes. 

* * *

> Zeke sucks Mo off in his bedroom while there’s a party happening in his living room, and Mo jerks Zeke off in the back of his car before he drops Zeke off at work. They grind against each other like horny teenagers at every chance they get and Mo is pretty sure Zeke has stopped sleeping with other people. The knowledge makes him feel powerful, god-like, and oh so in love. The last part is the worst of all, because he knows they’re just _doomed_.
> 
> After every encounter, Zeke reminds Mo, as if he could ever forget, “I’m not gay.”
> 
> And every time, Mo replies, “I know, it’s fine, doesn’t matter.” 
> 
> Zeke’s still a high school dropout and a loser. Mo’s still too young to be drinking and smoking as often as he does. There’s no way this ends well, for either of them. 

* * *

Mo gets home with come dripping down the inside of his legs. He and Zeke had gone three rounds; Zeke had passed out almost immediately after his third load, and Mo knows he could’ve stayed. Zeke doesn’t really mind cuddling too much, and it wouldn’t be the first time they woke up together. But something had churned unpleasantly in Mo’s stomach, so he bailed.

He slips inside his home and realizes his dad is still sitting at the dining room table. A flush burns at the back of Mo’s neck, up to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

“Go to bed, Monroe,” his dad says softly. 

“Yeah, okay, dad. You should too.” Mo doesn’t linger to hear his dad’s response. He’s far too aware of Zeke’s come dripping out of him as he takes the stairs two at a time. He strips out of his clothes that stink like Zeke’s place and into fresh pajamas. He should probably shower, but his dad would _definitely_ know something was up, and Mo just can’t face that right now. 

As he falls into his bed, his phone buzzes.

** from: zeke  
** _next time, you should ride me_

Mo shudders. There are a million things he could reply with— _we can’t do this anymore,_ or _no thanks_ , or _only if we’re both sober_. He stares at Zeke’s message for a long time. His screen goes dark and he presses the button on the side to light it up again. Zeke’s message waits for him, not even three dots to indicate Zeke is nervously considering double-texting him. 

Mo knows he could say anything. He could put a stop to this whole mess right now. 

He doesn’t.

** to: zeke  
** _okay_


End file.
